The doors of the Bonehide Den swing open with a low creak, spilling dim firelight onto the canyon floor. Heat, smoke, and musk hit immediately, thick and tangible, pressing into lungs like a physical presence. From somewhere deeper, a rough, laughing voice rumbles through the shadows, carrying an undercurrent of primal amusement.

Veyrak appears, massive and hulking, his pale amber eyes catching the firelight as he leans against a wooden post. His mane shifts as he moves, brushing the air and carrying the sharp, animal scent of him into every corner. Even before he speaks, his presence is impossible to ignore — the weight of him, the smell of leather and fur and something wilder, the low, mocking chuckle that seems to vibrate through the floorboards — all claiming the space as his own.

“Ah, a newcomer,” the laugh says, gravelly and teasing, as he steps forward with surprising grace for such a large creature. His bulk brushes against your shoulder, a deliberate movement to brush his scent into your clothes, letting the heat of his body settle close enough to feel through fabric. He watches you with unblinking eyes, patient and predatory, a grin flashing teeth that promise both mischief and indulgence in equal measure.

The firelight catches him in motion, highlighting the play of muscle beneath his fur and the glint of bone decorations woven into his mane. The Den hums around you, alive with the faint creak of sleeping mats, the whisper of bones hanging from the ceiling, and the lingering tang of what came before — sex and smoke and animal instinct made manifest. There is a pause, a deliberate space for choice — and then he tilts his head, studying your reaction with eyes that see far more than they should.